


Make Love, Not War Games

by MalevolentMagpie



Series: Pull My Trigger [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ...sort of, Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), How is that not a tag, I Don't Even Know, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Inspired by youtube comments, M/M, Silly, Tags Are Hard, but practically platonic, clueless Shiro, definitely not beta read, gay in denial, mild shallura, please suggest tags, really gets out of hand fast, starts out serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24052678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentMagpie/pseuds/MalevolentMagpie
Summary: Supervillain Shiro is absolutely obsessed with destroying his secret agent archnemesis. In fact, he just can't stop thinking about the man.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Pull My Trigger [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750324
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Genghis Khan](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/617092) by Miike Snow. 



> I really have to stop writing fics inspired by YouTube comments, yet here we are. If you haven't watched the music video above, I HIGHLY recommend it. Also, I nearly spent longer figuring out how to tag this monstrosity than I did writing it; please feel free to suggest tags or tag-edits. (But I wasn't joking about that drunk tag, by the way.)

If you asked Shiro now, he couldn’t tell you why he married her all those years ago. He knows what the Shiro from back then  _ thought  _ was the reason. They were fresh out of school, had been their high school’s power couple, and not only did they not fight, they got along splendidly. It was like having a best friend that was constantly at your side, committed to you beyond mere friendship bonds, and said friend was a beautiful woman, which was of course a plus. Or so teen Shiro had thought. 

Teenage hormones were in full swing at the time. At times it seemed a gentle breeze would suffice. So when Allura had first kissed him and it felt “soft” and “pleasant,” he figured it was enough. When she first let him touch her breasts in the darkness of a tent during a camping trip, he felt nervous, and figured that was appropriate. When they first had sex in her bedroom while her parents were out on a movie date, it felt pleasurable, and he thought he finally had the chance to understand what all his friends kept raving about - though the experience appeared to be highly overrated, in Shiro’s opinion. 

Nevertheless, their relationship was solid, in that it was built first and foremost on a strong friendship. Occasionally, they would do more, but on the whole Shiro didn’t find himself too interested. He fancied himself to be a person who more highly valued emotional connection. And so their relationship continued through graduation, both accepting the inevitability of marriage almost without discussion.

Yes, that was why young Shiro had married her then. He thought this was love, fond and comfortable. With the full benefit of hindsight, his best guess was that the true reason he married her was that it was the natural progression of things, and it seemed like a sensible choice. Allura was beautiful, talented, sharp, kind, and fiercely loyal. She was not without fault, of course, but overall she was a quality human being. There was nothing of true importance that Shiro could even think to point to in selecting a better life partner. 

His career progressed in much the same way. He had always been deeply sensitive to others’ pain; he knew from a young age that he wanted to dedicate his life to helping others and easing their suffering. So upon graduation he set himself on track to pursue therapy in the setting of disaster response. It was an exciting job, though it meant that he spent little actual time out of the year with his wife. It had him always traveling and meeting all sorts of people and organizations. He obtained what he had bargained for: people in distress, people in pain, people panicking and crying and screaming, downtrodden and defeated and continually beaten by the powerful and rich. And in the midst of them was Shiro, just Shiro, to calm them down and raise them up, to absorb their screams and their pain and be there to feel it with them, then take them by the hand and lead them out of that negative space into something more manageable. 

Years passed in this way. At some point, he didn’t know when, he realized he was being affected. At first it was a feeling like hypersensitivity. When he took in others’ pain and allowed himself to feel it with them, it hurt much more, like a cut reopened when it was just beginning to heal. Eventually, another feeling grew. The feeling that he was a sponge, and each drop of misery he took into himself filled him up until he was bursting at the seams and leaking. And still he continued. He continued with his work until he was on automatic pilot and no longer had a reason for doing it beyond, that was what he did. That was who Shiro was. 

That was when he was first approached. His job had him meeting  _ all  _ sorts of people, after all, and on one such trip he met a very peculiar set of people. People with sharp stares and sharp suits who offered him a… different career path. There was no particular reason that he could think of to say no. And a sizeable part of him wanted to say yes, to rebel against the gnawing emptiness of his martyrdom and do the exact opposite for a while. 

His meteoric rise through the ranks marked him as a natural. His inherent kind and charming disposition was a surprisingly strong asset for a supervillain. It made people let down their guard, it helped him ingratiate himself and worm his way into their trust and affection. The betrayal was almost too easy then. By the time he got around to callously and mercilessly bring about their downfall, some of them even welcomed it with open arms. Some continued to defend him until the bitter end, assuring their colleagues that it couldn’t possibly be Shiro, there must be something else going on. When it was all over, Shiro would coolly pack up his suitcase and return home to give his perfect wife a chaste kiss on the lips. ‘Just a regular Tuesday at the office, dear. What’s for dinner?’


	2. Chapter 2

Finally, after two years of chasing, that infuriating man was in his grasp. 

It was not long after Shiro’s rise to power over his regional base beneath the Galra criminal empire’s leadership that he met his very own fiery little archnemesis. The Altean Institute, a covert special forces organization independently allied with major world players such as MI6 and the CIA, had wasted no time in painting a target on his back. And the arrow they’d assigned to the job was a certain Mr. Keith Kogane. 

Shiro had first met him at a charity fundraising gala - a Galran cover for an international bioweapons purchase. The gala was a grand affair: sparkling chandeliers, marble halls, the finest drinks and food and the finest people. He had just turned away from a dance with Allura when he spotted  _ him  _ across the wide ballroom. A striking man with jet-black hair and a piercing stare, dressed to kill in a wine-red tuxedo meticulously tailored to every angle of his lithe body. Shiro felt a tug in his gut, an unrecognized feeling he had never before experienced. It was as if his vision blurred and focused on the man, who at once looked much closer than the span of the ballroom and much farther away. The mysterious man’s every detail was thrown into sharp relief: the delicate features combined with a resting glare that could cut through steel, the indigo-gray-violet of his eyes, the heavy knit of strong black brows, the soft-looking, slender fingers gripping a bicep under crossed arms. 

Shiro was halfway across the room before he even realized he had started moving. He became aware of himself only when those sharp eyes he had been admiring suddenly turned in his direction and widened in surprise at Shiro’s approach. Shiro didn’t blame him. He was surprised, too. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was advancing towards this complete stranger, nor what he would do or say once he arrived at his destination, but it was too late now. Nothing for it but to commit. 

“Lovely event, this,” he found himself saying when he came up to the stranger’s side. 

The man simply looked at him for a moment as if he still couldn’t believe that Shiro had approached him. Finally, he spoke. “Uhh. Yeah. If you’re into this sort of thing, I guess.” He not-so-subtly let his eyes wander up and down Shiro’s frame. “Which it looks like you are.”

Shiro forced a chuckle, self-consciously passing a hand from the back of his fuzzy undercut up through the longer black hair on top. “Heh yeah, I keep telling my bosses that suits make me look like a socially-awkward penguin, but they just repeat something about professional appearances.”

“No! Uh. I- I mean.” Keith cleared his throat roughly, a faint blush blooming on his cheeks. “You- you look good. Handsome, I mean. Very-” and he quickly took a swig from the wineglass he was holding as if he would very much like to escape into it. 

“Oh! Thank you. So do you. Look… Very… very.” Well, this conversation was going fantastically smoothly so far. “My name’s Takashi Shirogane, but most call me Shiro.” He held out his hand.

“I know,” said Keith, meeting it in a warm grasp. Shiro raised an eyebrow. “I mean, you’re the host for this shindig right?” Keith corrected himself. 

This time, Shiro laughed for real. “I certainly am. Though I apologize, since it appears it’s not quite to your tastes. What kind of ‘shindig’  _ do _ you like, Mister…?”

“Kogane. Keith Kogane,” the man replied easily, then immediately stiffened in alert. Hesitatingly, he continued. “And I’m… more of a cheap-beer-in-the-back-of-a-pickup kind of guy.”

Shiro barked out another laugh, startling some well-to-do ladies nearby that would have clutched their pearls if they’d been wearing any. “That can be arranged, Mr. Keith Kogane,” said Shiro, grabbing the smaller man’s free hand (and noting that his fingers felt just as soft as he’d imagined they would). 

Keith, to his credit, followed easily. Yet another mystery, considering Shiro was a complete stranger that had just appeared suddenly only to immediately whisk him away. The man was not wary at all. Perhaps he should have been. Shiro could have been taking him out back to the garden to kill him - as he had to others in the past (only for business, of course). 

What was he doing, Shiro thought as he navigated the familiar gleaming halls of the event space, the mansion of a “business associate” of his that the Galran leader, Zarkon, had entrusted to handle the weapons contract and handoff. He must be losing his mind, suddenly running off with a man he’d just met, to whom he felt an inexplicable draw. Like they were eternally destined to be great friends, maybe even best friends. 

Keith, for his part, followed silently, only speaking once when they reached the valet to ask, “Your car or mine?”

Shiro suggested they take Keith’s, thinking that Allura might want to take their van back early to check on the baby. He was unsurprised when a cherry-red convertible pulled up, Keith sliding into the driver’s seat and cocking a devilish grin towards Shiro. “Well? You coming?”

An hour later found them not in the back of a pickup but on the hood of Keith’s work car, licking their fingers of the grease from the In-N-Out fries between them and chatting like old friends about anything and everything, from the mundane details of their daily lives to the future of humanity in the grander scope of the fate of the universe. The only thing Shiro left out were the details of his job, but Keith didn’t seem particularly bothered by that, and it wasn’t as if he elaborated much on  _ his  _ job either. He was apparently part of some research firm that had contracts with some of the charities present at the gala. In other words, an Innocent. It was a relief. Though he technically hadn’t known Keith that long, Shiro had been secretly dreading to discover that he might be embroiled in the shady work that he himself was involved in. Keith was too good for that. Too bright. He shone like a beacon in the darkness. 

Later that night, tossing and turning sleeplessly beside his beautiful wife, he would rack his brain over what it meant that he thought so. For, surely, that was a strange thought to have about a person one had just met, and a  _ man _ , no less. Shiro wasn’t like that. Not that there was anything wrong with being gay. He considered himself an ally, actually - villain though he undeniably was in other aspects. It’s just that that wasn’t him. No, it must be something about Keith himself as a person. He was just… wonderful. So passionate and endearing, right down to his short temper (which even in the single evening that he had known him had come out when someone tried to block him in traffic). Yes, they would be great friends. Shiro just knew it. 

They did indeed become close friends right away, spending a great deal of time with each other simply sitting on Keith’s front porch drinking beer on Friday nights, or meeting up for happy hour or billiards after work during the work week. The closeness was immediate. Natural. Shiro found himself opening up to Keith in ways he had never before trusted anyone enough to do - not even Allura herself. Keith didn’t judge. He didn’t give him counsel. He just sat silently and listened, staring with those soulful indigo-gray-violet eyes that bored deep into Shiro’s self as if truly  _ seeing _ him, truly understanding. Shiro even told him about the creeping doubt he was beginning to have about his marriage, made all the more complicated by the presence of their toddler. 

“I do  _ love _ Allura, of course. It’s just… lately I’ve been wondering if maybe it’s not the kind of love everyone else talks about. I never felt anything more with anyone, so I figured that must be all there is, but then recently-” Shiro cut himself off after a quick sideways glance towards Keith, and amended his statement. “Just, recently I started being able to imagine what ‘more’  _ could  _ feel like, and recognize that what I feel for Allura isn’t it.” 

That had been the only time Keith had given anything resembling an opinion on Shiro’s troubles. “Shiro,” he uttered softly. “If you’re not happy with Allura, you owe it to her, too, to let her know.” 

“I know,” Shiro had said, and hung his head. They had sat in silence the rest of the evening. 

Their sudden, close friendship, however, was short-lived. It ended abruptly during another work event which Keith had attended under the auspices of representing his research firm. The Galra had rented out an entire floor of a nearby casino for what was supposedly a company anniversary party. In actuality, it was something akin to a networking event for the criminal underworld, evil masterminds, homicidal psychopaths - a swell group of people, plus a handful of Innocents like Keith who were affiliated with important resources. Shiro sat in the corner of a craps table massaging his temple and reminding himself that he was contractually obligated to be here, when he heard a familiar husky voice in his ear. 

“I was expecting to find you at a poker table. I thought that’s what you people played.” 

Shiro smiled before he even opened his eyes. “And who exactly is ‘my people’?” 

The man before him just shrugged. “Oh, you know... businessmen.” Keith sat down beside him, ignoring the dealer’s complaints. 

Something that sounded embarrassingly close to a giggle escaped Shiro at Keith’s brazen disregard for the sanctity of casino rules as well as at the dealer’s affronted expression. “I have a bad poker face. And I don’t like lying,” he said as he grabbed Keith’s shoulders and maneuvered them both away before the man behind the table could call security. 

“Poker isn’t ‘lying’ - it’s misleading. There’s a difference.” 

“Uh-huh. Have you no moral compass, you little devil?” 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he heard Keith mutter almost imperceptibly under his breath. 

The line was so uncharacteristic of Keith. Shiro had just opened his mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean when he heard the alarms go off. All hell broke loose. Everywhere around them, men who had been calmly sitting or milling about instantly drew guns. Security rushed in from previously unseen corners. Several male and female escorts screamed or ducked to hide under tables or behind bars. It was chaos. 

He turned to check on Keith, but Keith was gone - had taken off running a split second after the alarms began, and was already disappearing around a corner. Shiro followed. He wasn’t even sure why, as often happened when it came to Keith, but something wasn’t right. It was in the way that Keith hadn’t seemed surprised at the sound of the alarms. His sudden flight didn’t seem to be an escape so much as a purposeful run  _ towards _ something. 

Shiro followed him down hallway after hallway, finally bursting into one of the administrative offices of the casino to find Keith facing him, knife in hand, and behind him a tawny, lanky young man furiously typing on a laptop. 

“Hurry up, Lance!” Keith gritted out, eyes still locked on Shiro’s.

“I’m going as fast as I can! I don’t have the skill that Pidge does!”

“Keith, what’s going on here?” 

Keith’s eyes were wide, wild. There was uncertainty in them, conflict, but also a kind of resigned determination that kept the hand holding the knife steady even as he said, “Sorry, Shiro.” 

He said nothing more, but he didn’t need to. Shiro understood. There was only one explanation, and Keith wasn’t going to disrespect him by attempting a half-assed lie. 

“Got it!” Lance cried out, victoriously holding a flash drive up in the air. 

“Run, you idiot!” said Keith. Lance immediately threw open the window, and stepped through with a cheeky wave at Shiro, disappearing into the darkness of the night. Keith readjusted his grip on his knife. “I don’t want to hurt you, Shiro,” he began lowly. 

Shiro scoffed. If Keith was what Shiro was beginning to suspect he was, that was a hell of a joke. “Who do you really work for? Arus? Balmera? Altea?” 

At the mention of Altea, Keith’s lips tightened ever so slightly - a movement Shiro likely would have missed had he not for some reason already memorized their every look and movement in the short time they had been friends. “Ah. I see. Did they… send you specifically for me?” When his opponent’s eyes only narrowed, Shiro dropped his gaze and nodded understandingly to himself. “A honeypot.” 

At that, Keith’s grip on his knife slackened, mouth open in surprise. “W- what?” 

But Shiro didn’t notice, too wrapped up in the bitter realization that their burgeoning friendship had all been a fabrication, engineered from the start by Keith himself. And he had fallen for it whole-heartedly. The worst part was that he couldn’t even bring himself to hate Keith, not just yet. Until he had some time to wrap his mind around the idea of Keith faking his friendship this whole time, Shiro could only see his dearest friend. Friend or no, however, Shiro had a job. 

Clearing his mind of all thought or emotion, he charged forward, trying to catch Keith off guard. Keith dodged the charge, spinning in place and landing an elbow to Shiro’s ribs. The latter stumbled into a desk. 

“Shiro please, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

Shiro grabbed the paperweight on the desk, next to the laptop Lance had used, and threw it at Keith, narrowly missing his head. Keith dashed forward and low, tackling Shiro by the waist and straight into the wall. The larger man’s breath was knocked out. He quickly regrouped to grab Keith’s knife-wielding arm and twist, causing Keith to drop the weapon… straight into his other arm. In a swooping arc, Keith slashed in the direction of Shiro’s face, creating a giant gash across his nose, just under his eyes. 

Then Keith jumped back, expression somber. Shiro looked up, holding a hand to his bleeding face, eyes tight with rage. But he didn’t attack again. There were voices now in the hall, commands to search each room for intruders. Keith’s gaze darted to the door in fear, then back to Shiro. All the villain had to do was yell out, and Keith would be immediately apprehended. 

He didn’t. He couldn’t. 

“Run,” Shiro hissed, expression still contorted in anger. 

Keith spared only a moment to hold his gaze, then dove through the same window Lance had. Shiro ran to the sill in time to see a dark shadow sliding down a zipline, then cutting the cord when he landed on a platform on the building next door, moving with almost ethereal grace. The office door burst down seconds later, a group of his own men. 

“Sir!” one cried when Shiro turned around, face a bloody mess. “Was there an intruder after all?!”

Shiro simply swatted off their fussing hands. “He got away.” 

~~~

For the next two years, Keith had dogged his steps, showed up at every mission, attempted to foil every plan. Altea had apparently seen fit to put Keith in charge of taking Shiro down, as they had with other agents and other sub-commanders of Zarkon. At a certain point, Shiro sat back and realized what this was. He had his very own archnemesis. A hotheaded, fierce, dashing spitfire of an archnemesis who drove him absolutely mad and began to consume his every waking thought. Soon, he found himself hatching not plans to complete missions for Zarkon while accounting for Keith’s attempts to stop him, but rather plans to specifically take down Keith. With a groan, he had to admit to himself that he had finally fully metamorphosed into the ultimate cliche of a supervillain: he became obsessed with defeating Keith. 

He didn’t address the hurt from Keith’s deception. There was no time, and he refused to grieve for a man who was essentially his sworn enemy. So he stuffed down deep all feelings that even remotely resembled something soft, and the rest he tried to file and sharpen into feelings more appropriate for a hero-villain relationship: hate, anger, disdain, contempt. Maybe it would’ve been easier to overcome even these feelings and achieve the ideal: cold detachment, were it not for the fact that he kept  _ seeing _ Keith everywhere. Constantly. 

It was only natural - it was Keith’s actual job to thwart Shiro. But the end result was that Shiro ended up effectively thinking of Keith, or seeing surveillance footage of Keith, or talking to Keith across a treacherous chasm or on top of a moving train, even more than when they were friends. He might as well have been married to Keith instead of Allura, for all that he got to see his wife in comparison.

And every time they met, it was explosive - sometimes literally. It was during one particularly memorable encounter at the top of a skyscraper belonging to the Galra Corporation that Shiro lost his right arm. His employees arrived just in time to drag out an unconscious Shiro from the panicked arms of Keith, who was attempting to staunch the bleeding despite clearly having been the one to cause it in the first place, as evidenced by the bloody sword at his side and Shiro’s detached arm at his feet. In recognition of Keith’s efforts, Shiro’s men didn’t attack Keith, focusing instead on getting their boss immediate medical aid. 

Shiro didn’t see Keith for a while after that as he slowly recuperated in Galra-run hospitals. As a valuable commander for Zarkon’s criminal empire, he was outfitted with a state-of-the-art experimental prosthesis that interfaced directly with his nervous system to function fully as a natural arm would. It could feel, it could move, it even felt warm to the touch just like a real arm. Shiro hated it. He could hardly recognize himself in the mirror anymore. His body was full of scars from his run-ins and failed missions, not the least of which was the one Keith had gifted him across the bridge of his nose on their first altercation. Now this arm. His forelock even began to grow in white from what Shiro could only assume was stress. 

It was Keith’s fault. It was all that damned infuriating man, with his devilish grin and his stupid sexy red-and-white leather jacket he always wore. Shiro, a respected villain of the Galra, was  _ losing _ because… Keith was good at his job. Even as he inspected his scarred torso in the mirror, pale scars like shooting stars dashing across every bit of skin, Shiro just had to grin. That damned bastard. Though Shiro could never admit it to his fellow Galra colleagues, he took a perverse kind of pride in each scar his body gained because of Keith - even the arm he hated so much.  _ His _ archnemesis, his Keith, was good, possibly the best. At work events, he had to fight the strange urge to brag to the other heads of Galra bases around the country about how he had Altea’s very best assigned to take him down _. _ That was definitely not a normal way to feel about one’s sworn enemy, he came to realize from tactful conversations with his fellow commanders. They all talked about their nemeses as they would an annoying roach they would very much like to be finally rid of, or an inescapable nuisance they had to learn to live with. Keith meant more than that to Shiro. What exactly that was, though, he refused to think about.

But it all culminated here. 

Finally, after two years of chasing, that infuriating man was in his grasp. Shiro strolled into the gray-brick building with a pep in his step, his henchmen turning subtly to look with confusion as he passed. His right-hand man, Coran, was instantly at his side as soon as he stepped through the threshold. 

“So, you’ve got him?” Shiro asked, barely managing to keep from smiling. He had an image to keep up, after all. If you lost your minions’ respect, it was nothing but work, work, work from then on.

“Yes, sir! Your plan worked flawlessly. It was almost too easy to catch him off guard and incapacitate him before he could signal Altea for help or rescue.”

“Excellent. Where is he now?”

“Right this way, sir,” said Coran, leading him to the main interrogation room. “We figured you might like him tied up in a nice bow.”

Shiro’s mind ran wild for a few panicked moments before he realized that Coran meant that they had already had him strapped to the table in the interrogation room and ready for questioning. “Th- thank you, yes.”

“You deserve a nice gift, boss. You’ve been working yourself ragged lately - we’re all worried about you, you know? Constance knit you a nice scarf, too, because she’s been concerned you’re not bundling up sufficiently and winter will be on us soon.”

He pressed his lips together tightly so as not to laugh, then schooled his face into one of composed seriousness. “Tell Constance, ‘Thank you, it is most appreciated.’ But Coran, you do realize this is a headquarters for an evil corporation, right?”

Coran waved the thought away as if it were irrelevant pablum. “Just because we’re henchmen doesn’t mean we can’t still worry for you.” 

They had reached the end of the hall and were standing before a door, both waiting for Shiro to lead the way through. His fingers were tingling, his nerves buzzing. Clasping his hands behind him and drawing himself up as tall as he could, he strode confidently into the large, circular room. It, like the rest of the building, was wholly constructed of gray brick and unfinished cement. It was shaped a bit like an arena, though not nearly so large, the center of the room recessed and girdled by stone columns beside which Shiro’s guards stood at parade rest. Here and there, women and men in white lab coats sat stationed at large metal machines with blinking switches and dials. Above, the retractable metal roof was pulled fully back to allow the afternoon sun to flood through the domed skylight. An arm-like, wired contraption that was connected to some of the blinking machines extended from somewhere around the skylight, gradually tapering to a lethal-looking rod currently pointed straight at the heart of a man with jet-black slicked-back hair and fierce indigo eyes, wearing a black tux and a red bowtie, bound to a cold, bare examination table. 

Shiro’s heart thumped painfully in his chest at the sight. He had known he would see Keith, of course, but this was the closest they had been in a long time. He must have been looking forward to Keith’s imminent demise even more than he thought he had. Keith struggled against the binds like a wild animal, but suddenly settled and stared wide-eyed as Shiro descended the stairs into the recessed circular area. 

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Shiro practically swaggered over to the table. 

Keith was still breathing heavily from the exertion of struggling against his bonds, but his usual husky voice was even as he replied. “That’s one hell of a smug grin you’ve got there. Did I give you that much trouble to get me here?”

“You did, actually,” he admitted easily. “You’re a difficult man to catch, little Firebrand.” 

“I’m flattered you’ve been thinking about me so much,” Keith smirked back. 

Around the room some of Shiro’s guards shot each other puzzled sidelong glances at the conversation. 

“You know, I usually insist on at least a second date before I let myself get tied up,” the man on the table continued with an amused tone that was aggressively at odds with the reality of his current position, in Shiro’s opinion. 

Forcefully dispelling the unbidden images that threatened to bowl over his mind at Keith’s words, he bent over the table to look Keith in the eye curiously. “I don’t think you grasp the gravity of your situation, Mr. Kogane. You see, right now your every vulnerability is laid bare before me. I have you entirely at my mercy,” he growled, low and smooth.

If he had meant for his words to strike fear in his nemesis, however, they did not quite have the intended effect. He could have sworn Keith’s pupils  _ dilated _ . 

“Oh?” the younger man purred with… interest? 

Shiro shook his head and turned away. He had to get a hold of himself. Keith always took him by surprise, always responded in unexpected, inexplicable ways. It left him feeling like he wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he had enough presence of mind to know to follow the established plan. He cleared his throat and picked up a pair of shears from a silver tray beside the exam table, brandishing them so Keith could clearly see every movement. 

“Anyway, answers. That’s- you’re going to give me answers. That’s right. About Altea.” Damn it. Normally Shiro was quite good at interrogations. Ruthless. Unflappable. At present, however, he could barely string three words together. To draw attention away from his moment of weakness, he slammed both arms against the metal examination table on either side of Keith’s delicate, graceful shoulders. No, wait, just- Keith’s shoulders. Just Keith’s shoulders. 

The table shook and rang from the impact of his metal arm. Keith flinched beneath him, so close he could practically taste his breath, and something like a smile began to play at one corner of that familiar mouth that could curse like a sailor one moment and offer soft support the next. 

“Nice threads, by the way,” Shiro heard himself utter soft and low. “Were you going somewhere fancy? A fun party, perhaps?” 

“You know I’m more of a cheap-beer-in-the-back-of-a-pickup kind of guy,” Keith replied, just as soft. 

“Uh, sir?” A voice from behind him rang out.

Shiro’s eyes flew wide, and he suddenly realized his positioning, bracketing Keith, head held close and speaking in soft whispers. He shot up so quickly he almost lost balance. “Ahem! Yes? What is it?”

The underling that had approached him was staring between the secret agent and the supervillain with uncertainty. “What’s, uh… what’s going on? I mean-! I was wondering what you were wanting to do with the enemy, sir!” 

Shiro just nodded absent-mindedly. “Yes, umm, bring me Matt’s new remote control. For the laser.” 

The worker clicked his heels together as he snapped his arm up in a salute, and immediately ran off. 

“I’m not going to tell you anything, so you might as well just kill me,” Keith drawled in an almost bored voice from where he was still strapped to the table. 

Shiro faced him. “‘Just’ kill you? No, where’s the fun in that? Do you know how long I’ve been searching for you, trying to get my hands on you?” 

Keith blushed. 

Shiro blinked several times, then closed his eyes so as to not get distracted. “A- anyway, it’s been two years, alright? I’m going to make this  _ last  _ and have a bit of fun with yo- oh my god, stop it! Stop that!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop… reacting like that to my every comment. That’s  _ not _ what I’m talking about! I’m  _ trying _ to threaten you here.”

Keith turned even redder and turned his head away with an obstinate pout. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Argh! Forget it! Matt!” Shiro called out. 

“Yezzir.” An auburn-haired man in a lab coat with a strawberry twizzler haphazardly hanging out of his mouth lazily turned from a nearby computer. 

“Is the machine ready?”

“Power is at 100%. Systems are ready. Coils are warm. When you two are done flirting, we’re good to do this thang.” 

“We…! We are not  _ flirting!” _ Shiro spluttered. 

“Ok,” said Matt as if he could not possibly care less. 

The worker soon returned with the remote control, a rather simple device with just two buttons, and yet still an upgrade from the previous version in that this one (hopefully) was not also capable of accidentally blowing up a portion of their own base of operations. 

“Warm up the laser,” Shiro shot out. 

There was only one possible course of action. Keith was too dangerous; Shiro could see it now. It would be wiser to just kill him immediately and skip the interrogation altogether. It was too risky to talk to Keith any longer than was strictly necessary. Matt could get the information about Altea’s inner workings another way. 

The metallic contraption suspended above Keith began to hum and buzz and glow red as power coursed through its wiry veins. Power that would soon be coursing through Keith’s body. The metal rod lowered until it hovered mere inches above Keith’s chest. For the first time since Shiro had walked into the room, Keith stiffened in fear.

“Finally,” Shiro hummed, trying to get his enthusiasm back for his archnemesis’ imminent destruction. “I must admit it’s been fun, this little game of ours, Spitfire. You’ve been a worthy opponent. But I’m afraid I really need to get back to doing my job, and that’s just not possible while you’re around.” As he spoke, he unbuttoned Keith’s jacket and shirt below where the laser hovered, so that the charge would more directly run through the slender, pale body. And while he worked, he resolutely did  _ not _ look up to see any expression on Keith’s face, nor did he think about how tender yet muscular Keith’s body felt as his fingers brushed against it. He wasn’t sure what kind of face he was making when he finished his task, but from Matt’s shit-eating grin he guessed it wasn’t normal.

“Goodbye, Keith,” Shiro whispered, holding the remote up and staring sadly down at his old friend. “For what it’s worth, you were the best friend I ever had. And the best enemy.”

Keith’s eyes widened as the machine whirred ever louder. Shiro lifted his finger, lingering in the air as if to make this one moment of life for Keith stretch. He just had to do it and not think of anything, then go back home and maybe convince Allura to have pork shoulder for dinner. He lowered his finger. The button neared. The alarm rang. 

“What?” Keith turned towards the wall, where a red alarm light flashed in time to a grating buzzer. 

Shiro looked up, too. The deadly machine powered down, instantly losing its rosy glow. Workers in gray and black uniforms began filing out of the hall. Shiro looked toward Matt, but the latter just shrugged. 

“5 o’clock, Boss. Time to punch out.” 

_ “Seriously? _ Today, of all days? You people can’t stick around a single minute so I can vaporize my sworn enemy??” 

Matt shrugged again. “Hey dude, workers’ rights. Take it up with the union. Or don’t, trust me - you don’t wanna start shit with those guys. Supervillain or not, they are not to be trifled with.” 

Shiro just stood there, mouth agape, as the entire facility powered down around him. He threw his hands up in disbelief and surrender, and from the direction of the table he heard a giggle. 

“Shut it, you,” he pointed a finger in warning. Keith just giggled harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know: in espionage terminology, a "honeypot" is a type of tactic that relies on using an agent to seduce (usually romantically) and lure a target in order to get close to them and then either get information on/from them or capture/kill/harm/blackmail them.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro trudged through the door to their lovely little Swedish-decorated apartment that Allura kept looking like a spread from a catalog. It was a little too manicured for Shiro’s taste, but if it made her happy, he was content. It was only fair that it was kept to _her_ specifications, since she spent far more time there than he ever did. And it was fitting, since she had more taste and artistic talent in her little finger than Shiro did in his entire body. 

“Dear? I’m back,” he called, hanging up his umbrella and coat on the bespoke mahogany coat rack she had bought at some local art festival. 

Allura’s long silver locks popped from around the wall separating the immaculately clean kitchen. “Welcome home! How was work?”

“Pretty good today, actually,” he realized he could say with a smile. 

“Oh yeah? I can tell. You look like you’re positively glowing. I haven’t seen you come home this happy since you started hanging around a while back with that friend of yours… what was his name?” 

“Keith,” Shiro replied, frowning. 

“That’s right, Keith. Did you run into him at work again?” 

“Well… yes, actually. But dear, we’re no longer friends, remember?”

“Yes, yes, I remember.” She rolled her eyes. “The mysterious falling out for which you won’t tell me the reason. It wasn’t over me, was it? Did your friend tell you he coveted your wife? You know, I always did think he was terribly attractive. If you weren’t straight, I’d be worried! Maybe even then!” She laughed as she teased, and leaned into the perfunctory kiss Shiro placed on her cheek. 

“Well, you have nothing to worry about. As I said, we’re not friends anymore. And after tomorrow, I don’t think we’re ever going to meet again - even at work.” 

She raised an eyebrow, still amused, but didn’t ask anymore, knowing as she did how tight-lipped her husband had to be about work. It was important work, and for a good cause, but as Shiro had explained from the very start of his career, complete confidentiality was of the utmost importance to protect the innocent. 

“Daddy!” came the happy cry from the hallway to the bedrooms. 

Shiro whirled about just in time to scoop up a tornado of dusky curls and sticky fingers. He showered the pudgy little face with kisses as if collecting each delighted shriek into his heart. 

“Hello, Haru! Why are your fingers so sticky? Oh my god, is that blood?? Baby!” 

“No, no, don’t worry,” Allura called from beside the stove. “She was just playing with finger paints. She’s officially decided that red is her favorite color, and giant robots are her favorite animal.” 

Shiro sighed in relief. Now that the initial shock was over, it was obvious it couldn’t be blood. The consistency wasn’t right, nor the color. And blood had a distinctive smell to it, especially when shed in great quantities… He looked into Haru’s naive brown eyes, staring back with nothing but pure devotion, and he couldn’t help but imagine for a moment Haru as one of the many people he had killed. People who surely had families and Harus of their own. Maybe he had torn families asunder, caused little children like Haru to have to grow up without a mom or dad or loving uncle. In his previous life, he had often worked with such people, helped them work through the heart-wrenching grief and pain of losing a loved one. And now _he…_

He stood up, brushing the thought away. That train of thinking was precisely what had made him miserable in the past. He was different now; he wouldn’t dwell on the sadness or the hurt. The trick was to not think about it. Then you found you could do anything, be capable of anything. Life was more peaceful that way. 

He ate his dinner -pork roast, after all- with his perfect nuclear family, at his perfect table, in his perfectly-decorated apartment. His wife stared at him beatifically, and he tried to give his best smile in return. Then they put Haru to bed and retired to their own, Shiro on the right and Allura on the left and 4 inches of space between them, as always. 

Long after he heard Allura’s breathing grow even and shallow, Shiro stayed awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of the interrogation room where right now Keith was probably sleeping poorly. The examination table was cold and hard and he hadn’t even thrown a blanket over him. He _had_ carefully buttoned Keith’s shirt and jacket back up once he realized his homicidal plans would not be fulfilled that night, but he hadn’t even given him a bathroom break or a meal. It was better that way, his reason supplied. People who were hungry and uncomfortable were more suggestible to persuasion or extortion. But he couldn’t bear to imagine Keith squirming in discomfort, shaking in hunger, sleep-deprived and disoriented. 

He threw off his cover and slipped out of the apartment. 

The interrogation room was just as he had left it that afternoon: dark, silent, and empty save for a lone figure strapped to a cold table. Shiro had brought with him the warmest comforter he and Allura owned - the one they reserved for when winter was in full swing. Since Keith did not move, he tiptoed as quietly as he could and lowered the blanket in excruciatingly slow increments so as to not wake him up.

“You are the _worst_ supervillain ever,” said a clear, snarky voice in the darkness. 

“Keith!” Shiro hissed. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack! Goddamn it, how long have you been awake?” 

“The entire time.” 

“ _What?_ Why didn’t you say anything and save me all the time and trouble trying to be quiet?”

“I was curious to see what you were going to do,” Keith replied, and there was a hint of amusement in his voice again. “I never imagined you would slink back here in the middle of the night to tuck me in like a newborn babe.” And then he actually _snorted._

“Hmph. Well if you don’t want the blanket I can certainly take it back.” Shiro pouted. 

“I didn’t say that.” 

It was then that he realized that Keith was indeed shivering imperceptibly beneath the cover. For some reason, he felt immensely more guilty thinking about how long he had forced Keith to suffer in the cold than he did thinking about people whose lives he had actually ended. 

“I’m sorry,” said Shiro. 

“For what?”

“For... leaving you here in the cold. I didn’t mean to make you suffer. Well, I mean, I guess I _did_ since I was planning to torture you and all, but not in this specific way. That is to say- Agh. I don’t know. Are you… comfortable now?” 

Only silence answered him, and Shiro could imagine even in the dark Keith leveling a deadeye stare in his direction. 

“Right. The table’s not exactly soft. Umm… Are you hungry? Do you… need a bathroom break?” 

Then Keith laughed again. “Why? Are you gonna hold my dick while I do it?” 

Shiro felt his face heat up. “ _No,_ but I can escort you somewhere under supervision.” 

His enemy hummed gently. “You’re not afraid I’ll escape?” 

“Pfft. I think I can take you,” Shiro returned. Their tones had grown soft again, somehow, just like earlier in the day, but it suited the darkness that surrounded them, and this moment - whatever it was - between them.

So Shiro fed Keith and escorted him to relieve himself, and though Keith could have probably tried harder to escape, he simply went along with Shiro. It felt more like two friends hanging out than a mortal enemy holding the other in captivity. When it was all over, Keith laid back down on the table, Shiro laying down a cushioned mat first, and he was once again buckled in. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Shiro whispered. 

“Full service hotel, this. Can’t say much for your corporate code of conduct but I have to admit for an evil corporation your hospitality is top notch. I’ll have to leave a good review on Yelp.” 

Shiro chuckled. “Sure there isn’t anything? It might be your last request.” He was surprised at how sad it came out sounding.

Keith was silent for a moment, then so softly that Shiro doubted whether he had actually heard it, he whispered, “Can you stay here with me?” 

He wasn’t sure why (and at this point he knew better than to ask himself that anymore when it came to Keith), but he did. Shiro instantly sat on the floor at the foot of the table and leaned back against the hard metal legs. They made easy conversation in hushed tones late into the night, until eventually both fell asleep. 

That was how they found them in the morning. 

“Sir!” was the first thing Shiro woke up to. 

He instantly shot up, looking around for the expected assailants. But there was no one around but a handful of his henchmen, watching him. Slowly, the events of the night before trickled in, even as he became aware of the terrible pain in his back from sleeping upright against cold metal bars all night. Groaning, he stretched his neck and looked behind him to see Keith, already wide awake and pursing his lips in amusement. 

“You really _are_ the _worst_ supervillain ever,” the little shit said. 

Shiro narrowed his eyes. “I hate you.” 

~~~

“Soooo… Keith, huh.” 

That grating voice could only be one person. Shiro put his coffee mug down on the counter and scrubbed a hand down his tired face. “Matthew. Didn’t see you in the corner there.” 

“I bet. You look totally exhausted - long night?” Matt cackled through a mouthful of cereal. “Never thought you’d fall for the man whose very purpose in life is to take you down.” 

Shiro stared. “It’s not like that. What is it with everyone?” 

“Umm, well, they have eyes. No worries on the whole ‘fraternizing with the loathsome enemy we’ve all been working for years to take down’ thing, though. I have it on good authority that the mostly-female R&D department _totally_ ships you two,” the bushy-haired menace added with flamboyant flair. 

“I don’t even want to know what that means,” Shiro replied, already walking out of the break room. Getting something to eat for breakfast wasn’t worth subjecting himself to Matt for a second longer. Unfortunately, the torture continued outside the room. Everywhere he went, he felt eyes on him, and occasionally he would pass by a group of his employees and overhear snippets of conversation. Snippets like, “Found in the morning at his feet” and “Good for him. He hasn’t seemed truly happy in years.” 

At midmorning he burst into the interrogation room, once again striding towards the examination table with purpose. A mischievous smirk and bed-tousled black locks in an impeccably tailored suit greeted him. 

“Good morning.”

“Nope, that’s it. I’m not doing this. No more. You’re my sworn enemy. You’ve made my job a living hell. I’m taking you out.” 

“Oh! Congratulations,” Coran’s voice floated in from behind him, his boots growing louder as he neared the middle of the interrogation arena.

Shiro turned, deadly glare still in place. “What?” 

“Didn’t you just say you were… taking him out? Ah, wait… Oh I see. _Taking him out._ Gotcha.” 

Shiro’s eye twitched. “I’m going to kill him. He’s going to die. I’m going to kill him. He’s going to die,” he began chanting under his breath as if trying to convince himself. 

Keith and Coran shared worried, pitying looks. 

“I believe you, Shiro.” 

The muttering man chanced a look towards the table again. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll beg for my life. Please don’t kill me, Shiro,” Keith said. His voice held no fear, though. If anything, it was a soft, gentle statement, like an affirmation of trust rather than a plea for mercy. 

Shiro growled and leaned over his prey, still bound and helpless and, infuriatingly, still not the least bit terrified. “I’ll do it, you know. I will.” 

Sorrowful indigo eyes met his gaze without faltering. “I know. Will you just grant me one last, last request?” 

Shiro paused. Finally. It was about time they all took him seriously. “Yes, of course. What is it?” 

“Will you pass on a message to a certain someone? Her name is Pidge. You don’t have to know her real name, just make sure the message gets to the Altean Institute, and they’ll get it to her. Tell her… tell her I’m sorry, and that I love her. And that I wish I could’ve had the chance to go to that dance with her, but I’m afraid I’m going to be terribly late.” 

_‘Her’?_ The words echoed through Shiro’s head on a loop. _‘I love her…’_ Love. Someone, a ‘her,’ whom Keith _loved_. Someone with whom he had a date to a dance, and to whom he was dedicating his last words. For some reason, it had never occurred to Shiro that Keith might have a girlfriend. The thought was blasphemous, unthinkable. Yet here was irrefutable evidence. His mind spun, breaking free of all control over his mouth.

With more humor than he felt, he grinned viciously. “A girlfriend?” He hooked one metal finger beneath Keith’s bright red bowtie. “How rude. Thinking of someone else while you’re on my bed- well, table.” Oh my god what was he saying. “I don’t want you thinking of anyone else but me.” 

At first Keith looked confused, then his eyes flew wide as Shiro pulled him up by the scruff of his shirt until their faces were nearly touching. This close, Shiro could see the swirling color of Keith’s irises, the way his tongue flicked quickly over his bottom lip, the way he swallowed thickly as his eyes roved down Shiro’s features. 

“Bring me the switch,” Shiro uttered. 

His henchmen obeyed without hesitation. He released Keith’s collar and the latter fell back against the hard metal table with a grunt. He wanted- what did he want? He didn’t know himself. The arm-like contraption once more descended from the ceiling to hover above Keith’s exposed chest. In a chair nearby, Matt gave him a thumbs up. When the switch was in hand and the machine fully powered, he forced himself to look at Keith one last time. 

“I’ll pass on your message to your sweetheart,” he said softly, walking away from the table, and, with his back to the prone man, moved to push the red button that would forever eradicate all trace of this man - his fire, his courage, his snark and irreverence and wit - from the face of the earth. His thumb hovered for a moment, once again waiting on the edge of a breath for his world to end- no, _Keith’s_ world to end, is what he meant to think. In hesitation, his finger drifted, and Shiro’s eyes were drawn to the only other button on the remote control, a green one: “Release.” Red flashed through his mind. Red like Keith’s stupid sexy jacket. Green. Green like his feelings at the thought of Keith with someone else. Red. Green. Red.

His finger shook. He punched it down onto the button. The manacles on the examination bed around Keith’s wrists clicked and fell open. 

Keith’s shock lasted but a moment, then he was immediately off of the table and on his feet, stance wide and ready to be accosted by Shiro’s minions. They approached from all directions, quickly advancing on Keith until Shiro held his arm up, back still turned to Keith and the rest of the room. His henchmen immediately stood down. As Keith cautiously retreated from the room, he saw Shiro in the distance hang his head. 

~~~

Left, right, right, up the stairs. Keith had of course memorized the path to the building’s exit when he had first been captured - it was one of the first lessons secret agents received, a matter of life and death. And Keith was the very best. It was no longer a conscious task to memorize a path through a building or the faces of every person when he walked in a room. It was second nature. Which, unfortunately, left a lot of mental room for thinking. And there was only one thing on his mind, one thing screaming through his thoughts. 

Shiro had let him go. 

He had held him in the palm of his hand, completely at his mercy after years of enmity and bloody battle, and he had let him go. It didn’t make sense in Keith’s head, but somehow in his heart he was not the least bit surprised. Since he had first been captured, he had found himself utterly unafraid because something inside held an absolute, unwavering certainty in one thing above all others - that Shiro wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe even before he’d been captured, if he was honest. 

It had been a messy kidnapping. The agents from Shiro’s base had made plenty of rookie mistakes, essentially announcing their presence. Keith, on the other hand, never made mistakes. He was Altea’s best because he never let his guard down, always living for the mission, always waiting for the next threat against which to throw himself. But this time he had not only made mistakes, he’d been careless - or rather, uncaring. He practically let himself get captured, and not even for infiltration purposes. 

Keith came to a skidding stop at the lobby of the building. The doors were before him, clear glass through which he could see a beautiful sunny day. Freedom was just yards away. No one had followed him through the building. No one was waiting to ambush him in the lobby. Shiro must have sent orders throughout the base that no one was to detain Keith. 

He took a step forward. What was he waiting for? The course of action was clear: escape the building, report back to Altean headquarters, debrief on any intel gathered during his time in captivity. Then he could get back to his friends, to Lance and Hunk and especially Pidge. For a minute there he thought he’d almost gotten out of having to go to that horrid school dance she kept pestering him about. Ugh, kids. Siblings, whether blood-related or found-family, were overrated in his opinion. But he was at least glad he’d be able to see her again. He definitely had to get back home. That was what he ought to do. 

He took a step back. Something about the idea of ‘home’ felt wrong though, like that wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He stepped back again, and again, until he found himself tracing his path through the building back to the circular room in which he had spent the better part of two days, in which Shiro was still standing, head held low and back turned to his lingering henchmen. This felt right. 

Shiro didn’t hear his approach. Didn’t register it as anything more than another passerby until Keith leaped over the rest of the steps to land loudly on the recessed floor of the arena. 

“I hear you have a wife.” 

Shiro whirled around, disbelief in his eyes. 

“I thought we’d talked about this before, Shiro. Best friend to best friend. Weren’t you going to tell Allura?” 

A look of confusion passed over Shiro while he looked Keith up and down, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he was there at that moment. “That’s… right,” he replied, and an adorable grin grew slowly on his face like sunshine breaking through stormy clouds.

“See, it’s gonna be a problem if you have a wife.” Keith was walking straight towards Shiro, eyes locked onto Shiro’s own. “Because I’m no homewrecker.” He stood before Shiro and grabbed his lapels. “And I don’t want you thinking of anyone else but me. _Nobody_ else but me.” 

He crushed his lips to Shiro’s with a ferocity that tasted of flame and desire, and Shiro rose to the challenge. Keith kissed Shiro just like he had fought Shiro: no holds barred, nothing held back, throwing his whole self at Shiro but this time trusting Shiro to catch him. They clashed almost violently, hands tugging and gripping and holding on tightly to any bit of skin or cloth they could. When Keith pulled away to come up for air, Shiro pulled him back and they lost themselves again. It was then that they both registered the sound of a throat clearing - loudly and for much longer than should ever be necessary. The two men broke apart, eyes dazed and lips shiny and slick. 

“Fucking _finally_. Now, are you two done eating each other’s faces?” Matt stood beside them (when had that happened?), arms crossed, foot tapping, and wearing a lopsided frown. Behind him and all around Shiro and Keith, Shiro’s henchmen stood watching the spectacle with touched smiles, some putting a hand to their mouth as if cooing over a precious infant, some even clapping, faces lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. Like this was better than the most entertaining telenovela currently airing. Goddamn it.

“There goes the fearful respect of my minions,” Shiro despaired quietly. 

“Oh please Shiro, they never had any to begin with. They just think you’re adorable - that’s why they follow you.” 

“What?” Shiro’s horrified face had Keith fighting a laugh. “B- but, I’m a villain! I kill people!” 

“Yeah, yeah, we know, big guy, it’s very evil.” He began pushing both of them across the room and out the door. “Anyway, would you two just fuck already so we can stop wasting the headquarters’ resources on your fucked up flirting game of explosives and dismemberment?”

“It was just the one arm,” Keith protested. 

“Most people just go out for coffee or at the worst like, neg or something. You two have some serious kinky issues to work out. Go, and don’t come back to work until you can hold yourselves back from licking the inside of your archnemesis’ mouth.” 

~~~

Months later, Keith walked into Altea headquarters, fully suited and armed, as for every other Monday. The building was a soaring glass skyscraper, all smooth lines and gleaming white tile both within and without. It gave the impression of transparency, efficiency, clinical sterility. In other words, it was stuffy as hell.

Steps echoing through the cavernous lobby, he nodded to the receptionist behind the lobby desk, sliding his suitcase over for inspection and, once cleared, taking the elevators up to his supervisor’s office. He threw open the doors. 

“Agent.” 

Keith nodded.

Behind his massive space-age desk, a broad, gruff man with salt and pepper sideburns sat down and poured out a glass of what looked like whiskey from his side cabinet and minibar. On the desk were piles and piles of paper and manila folders, and a silver plaque with a single name on it: ‘Kolivan.’ 

“Glad to see you back. You were off the grid for longer than usual this time. Were there complications with the mission?”

Keith subtly shifted his weight. “...You could say that.”

The gruff man leaned forward in his chair, face as stoic as ever but eyes focused on Keith’s deviating gaze. “Were you successful in your mission to foil Shirogane’s latest plot?”

“...Yes, sir.” 

Kolivan narrowed his eyes and swirled the amber liquid around in his glass. “So, agent, how did you stop him this time?” 

The younger man shifted again. “I uh… married him, sir.” 

The glass crashed. 

Kolivan’s face was frozen in place, hand comically held in the air where the drink had once been. The only movement on the stern countenance was a single throbbing vein that stood out prominently against his forehead. 

A lesser man would have cowed in fear. But Keith was not that man. Unfazed, he soldiered on: “He gave up his ties to the Galra and I’m reforming him. We’re converting his headquarters into a full research facility, specializing in defensive technology to ward off retaliatory tactics by Zarkon. We have a daughter named Haru, and a cat named Red, and our belated reception will be held this Saturday at the cherry blossom field in Arus Park. You are of course invited. It’s black tie optional,” he finished in the same factual monotone with which he delivered every mission report. 

Minutes passed in silence, Kolivan and Keith holding still, gazes locked, with only Kolivan’s throbbing vein to keep time. 

“...Well congratulations.”

~~~

Shiro stepped through the door to their cozy apartment, a warm, beautiful mess of mismatched furniture and secondhand appliances, walls adorned with nonsensical toddler drawings and Keith’s collection of motorcycle posters. It smelled like apples and cinnamon and sugar, and rang with delighted squeals of “Papa!” and “The cookies!” coming from the kitchen. 

He hung up his umbrella and coat on the plastic clothes hangers in the closet, but before he could call out to his family, he was tackled by a blur of red and white and jet-black locks, and his lips captured in a searing kiss. 

“Welcome back,” whispered Keith breathlessly against his lips. 

“Hello, dearest,” he replied with a besotted grin. He felt a light tug on his pant leg and looked down to a pouting Haru, whom he quickly scooped up. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

“Papa ran faster than me. _I_ kiss Daddy first!” 

Shiro laughed and left a loud smack on her forehead. “Well, Papa has longer legs,” he said as he led his happy troop to the kitchen. It was a battlefield of flour and metal trays. 

“I haven’t really ever baked before, but Haru wanted fresh-baked cookies,” Keith shrugged, as if Haru wanting something was sufficient justification to do anything and everything required to attain it. 

“Why are they all so... _red_?” said Shiro, surveying the trays and trays of cookies that surrounded him with no small degree of horror. It looked like a vampire’s macabre midnight snack.

“It’s our favorite color!” Haru supplied, with Keith nodding along behind her in solemn solidarity. 

“You two are so alike it’s scary sometimes. You sure _you_ didn’t spawn this little terror instead of me?”

“Nah,” Keith replied, leaning up on the tips of his feet to kiss his husband again. “She’s too wonderful. She had to have come from you.” 

After dinner, they tucked Haru into bed and retired to their own, locking the door and two hours later cuddling up beneath the blankets. Keith sat back against the headboard with a martini in his hand to read the day’s newspaper; Shiro tucked himself into his side, squeezing tightly. How it was that Keith managed to look irresistible even in boxy flannel PJs and with reading glasses on, Shiro could never understand. He gave a small, contented hum, and Keith pulled down his reading glasses to look at him.

“Hey remember the time I almost killed you?” said Shiro.

“Heh yeah I remember that honey.” 

They snuggled up against each other as close as they could go, in their comfy bed, in their messy apartment, with their messy, wonderful family. And it was perfect.

THE END...?


End file.
